


Five Times Kareen Told Ezar the Truth and One Time She Didn't

by Zimra



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: 5+1 Things, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-04-30 13:45:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5166008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kareen and Ezar Vorbarra, from the beginning to the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Kareen Told Ezar the Truth and One Time She Didn't

1.

“Breathe,” Countess Vorob’yev had told her earlier, smiling and pecking her on the cheek before gliding away to join her husband and leaving Kareen to wait with only her nerves for company. Now, standing in the center of the circle of groats, Kareen had to struggle to heed her aunt’s advice. Her dress was not too tight, the sun was not too hot, and the great press of the crowd was kept mercifully back by the inner circle of witnesses and several more of family members and important guests, but despite all that Kareen couldn’t help feeling a little faint. 

All the events of the past several months, from secret negotiations and babas and medical examinations to parties and public appearances and rehearsals and endless, endless dress fittings - everything had led up to this moment. Kareen stood in the circle before her husband-to-be, her aunt and uncle smiling at her from their points on the star, and stared up into Serg Vorbarra’s intense hazel eyes. 

She’d had months to adjust to the idea of marrying him, had attended dozens of social functions at the Prince’s side, but somehow she felt as though she were seeing him for the first time. Serg was taller than her, though not inconveniently so, with broad shoulders and a rectangular face that stood in contrast to his lean father, though they had the same coloring. He wore his parade red-and-blues, which he preferred to the formal version of the Vorbarra House uniform - Kareen vaguely recalled that it had been a point of contention between him and the Emperor, back in the planning stages. Privately she thought the military get-up had been a good choice - the colors set off his dark hair and pale complexion well. 

When the time came for them to repeat their vows in all four of Barrayar’s languages, Serg reached out and took both of her hands in his. He had big hands that easily enveloped Kareen’s narrow ones, and his grip was firm, even tight. She tried not to focus on his touch, returning her attention to the words she was saying - she’d never spoken Greek in public before, and she didn’t want to disappoint Madame Kyrkos, her elderly pronunciation coach. 

Serg completed his half of the vows smoothly, not seeming nervous at all; Kareen found his voice pleasant, especially when he spoke in Russian, her first language. Had it been his as well? There were so many things she did not know about the man she was marrying. 

Suddenly there were no more words to recite. Serg pulled her to him and kissed her hard on the mouth, and for a moment she truly couldn’t breathe at all. The Emperor left his place on the star and opened the circle of groats with a dignified sweep of his foot, then leaned down to kiss her cheek - a traditional gesture, but one that seemed jarringly affectionate coming from this man. 

A great roar rose up from the assembled onlookers, a wall of sound that made Kareen’s heart pound like a parade drum in her chest. This was _her_ wedding, and hundreds of people cheered for _her_ …

Still light-headed from the kiss and half stunned by the noise of the crowd, Kareen clung to Serg’s arm and let him lead her away to the party. 

She was hyper-aware of his touch as they walked, of the proximity of their bodies and the easy strength of the arm that supported her. Their betrothal had been formal, choreographed, and chaste - they had spent a great deal of time together in the company of other people, but very little alone. Before today Serg had never done more than dance with her and kiss her hand, and Kareen hadn’t minded. She found the Prince handsome, but the thought of spending tonight with a husband who was still little more than an acquaintance turned her stomach into a great tangle of nerves. More than once she had entertained the idea of asking Serg if they could delay their consummation until they had gotten a chance to know each other a little better, but it would be a rather large break with custom, and if word got out somehow people would talk. Besides, it seemed unwise for an Emperor’s only son to waste any time in trying for an heir. 

Kareen knew the basics of what conceiving a child entailed, but she had a vague idea that there was a lot more to what went on in married couples’ bedrooms than that. She hadn’t had the nerve to ask her aunt, but a few days before the wedding Galina had taken her aside and given her a few pieces of advice. 

“It will likely be rather awkward the first few times - it takes a little while to get used to each other,” her cousin’s wife had said matter-of-factly. “Doubtless he has more experience than you, but he will be expecting that.” Kareen had blushed a little at that, even though she knew her virginity had been crucial to the success of the marriage negotiations. “It’s a good idea to let him take the lead at first, but let him know if he moves too quickly or does something you don’t like. If he’s any kind of gentleman, he’ll listen.” 

Galina had been happily married for nearly a decade and borne three healthy children, so Kareen trusted her judgement. 

The crowd parted around them as the Crown Prince and Princess led the way back to the palace, where the largest party of the decade would commence in the Imperial Residence's most impressive set of ballrooms. Kareen had been in these rooms several times in the last few months for balls and state functions and rehearsals, but she could not restrain a small gasp when she saw the full wedding decorations for the first time. Candles lined the walls, throwing their light across the patterned floor to mingle with the glittering of many crystal chandeliers. Color bloomed from several of the largest, most elegant flower arrangements Kareen had ever seen, their shades perfectly matching the flowers she wore in her hair. But the wave of approaching guests was enough to distract her from the vast splendor of the room, the Vor all but outshining the flowers in their bright gowns and uniforms.

At last she spotted her aunt and uncle, the tall, stocky Count looking dignified in his Vorob’yev house uniform, the Countess resplendent in a burgundy gown and ornate gold jewelry. Her cousin Max followed close behind them, his severe military haircut and crisp red-and-blues somewhat at odds with the massive grin on his face. Sasha and Galina lagged a bit, shepherding their two oldest children through the crowd - they’d wisely left three-year-old Lizaveta at home with her nurse. Eight-year-old Tanya and five-year-old Ioann were both red-faced and excited, craning their necks to try and catch a glimpse of their aunt through the press of grown-ups. Some of her shock and adrenaline began to fade as Kareen detached herself from Serg and let her family surround her, accepting careful hugs from the children and kisses from the adults. 

After a little while Serg inserted himself politely into their circle and greeted all of Kareen’s family members by name, even the children. He charmed Tanya and Ioann so easily that Kareen felt a hint of pride in her husband of several minutes. Maybe this was a sign that he would be good with children when the time came? More likely Kareen’s niece and nephew were simply overexcited and starstruck, but it didn’t hurt to hope. 

The music began, and Serg took her hand and led her out for the first dance. Everywhere she turned, Kareen found herself surrounded by a colorful swirl of well-dressed people: dozens of officials, officers and aristocrats, most of whom she barely knew even after being paraded around the Imperial social circuit for months. But she was no stranger to elite gatherings despite her relative inexperience with Vorbarr Sultana, and could smile and dance her way through stress as well as any other girl of her rank. 

Fortunately, dancing seemed to be all anyone expected from her for now. After Serg she partnered her uncle, and then Sasha, with whom she had a good laugh when they spotted Max in a distant corner of the ballroom, waltzing solemnly with Tanya while a giggling Ioann clung to his back. When the dance ended, they made their way over, and while Sasha collected his children Max took Kareen’s hand and bowed over it. 

“Your Imperial Highness,” he said, his tone suffused with exaggerated formality, “would you honor me with a dance?”

“Of course, Lord Maxim,” Kareen replied, stifling a giggle. 

Next up was an old folk dance popular throughout Barrayar's Russian-speaking communities. Both Kareen and Max had known the steps by heart since they were children, which made it easy to carry on a conversation. 

"How are you feeling?" Max asked, his blue eyes twinkling. "You're a very serene bride, you know. I can't tell if you're overwhelmed by all this fuss, or reveling in it, or something else entirely." 

"Really? I don't feel serene. Overwhelmed, mostly, maybe a little awed." She paused to let Max guide her through a spin, then frowned slightly. "Does 'serene' mean I don't look happy enough?" 

"Not at all," Max assured her. "It means you look regal and calm. Very princess-like. The old Vor ladies are going to love you." 

“I hope they’re not the only ones.” Her eyes drifted across the room to where Serg was dancing with Countess Vorhalas. 

“ _Everyone_ is going to love you,” Max assured her. “I remember once when you were over at our house in the district with your parents, you pretended you were a princess and that my father's favorite armchair was your throne, and made me and Sasha your knights and tried to send us on quests. You must have been about five, and I was probably thirteen, so of course I thought you were unbearably annoying and would have run off somewhere I could ignore you. But seventeen-year-old Sasha was too mature and responsible to let me, so I got stuck with the noble goal of stealing some cookies from the kitchen. I wasn't trying very hard so of course I got caught, and our cook was all set to scold me until I told her they were for you. Then she softened up right away. I found it all terribly unjust, but you were so excited when you saw those cookies, and you shared them evenly with me and Sasha, and then you asked us to take you out to the stables to see the horses. I actually ended up enjoying myself. You’ll be a wonderful princess, I’m sure of it.”

Kareen laughed. "I don't remember that at all. But I hope I can count on your continued loyalty, dear knight." 

“Of course, milady,” Max said, leading her through the final spin of the dance and finishing with an elaborate bow. Kareen curtsied back, grinning. 

“Good evening, Princess,” said a voice directly behind her. Kareen turned and barely restrained her shock when she saw who was waiting patiently at her elbow - Emperor Ezar Vorbarra.

Kareen curtsied again and Max, suddenly quite straight-faced, gave a sharp salute. "Commander Vorob'yev," the Emperor said, nodding to Max. "I'm glad that the _Emperor Dorca_ managed to get you back here in time for the wedding. Congratulations on your recent commendation."

"Thank you, sire." To the untrained eye Max might have seemed calm, but Kareen recognized that faintly frozen look as shock.

Smiling, the Emperor turned to Kareen again and offered her his arm. “Would you honor me with a dance, Kareen?”

“Of course, sire.” Carefully she took his arm and let him lead her back out to the center of the room, throwing a rather desperate glance back at Max, who shrugged and flashed her a reassuring smile. 

The next dance was more formal and sedate, but less familiar; it hadn’t been common at the sorts of parties Kareen was used to, mostly smaller gatherings of her aunt and uncle’s friends at country estates. But it wasn’t a particularly difficult dance, and Kareen knew all the steps - she should be perfectly capable of holding a conversation while dancing with the Emperor. She felt her hands begin to sweat. 

“Are you nervous, my dear?” 

Reflexively, she almost replied _not at all, sire,_ but something about those piercing hazel eyes, so like and yet unlike his son’s, made her feel certain that he would know if she lied. 

“A bit. Well,” she demurred, when his gaze did not waver, “perhaps rather a lot. We’ve had so little time together, the Prince and I.” 

“I understand,” said the Emperor. “I married a distant cousin in a political match - it is easy to have doubts, in cases such as ours.”

Kareen nodded; she knew the story, of course. She also knew that the former Empress had never really gotten over the events of the civil war and had killed herself when Serg was very young, but she would never dream of bringing that up in front of Ezar. 

“But you and Serg have plenty of time to get to know each other,” the Emperor continued. “I’m sure you will be a loyal wife and a valuable addition to this family.” 

“I will do my best, sire,” said Kareen earnestly. 

Ezar smiled at her, but Kareen thought it made him look oddly sad. Perhaps he was thinking of his own wife. 

The dance ended, and the Emperor - her _father-in-law_ , she thought, still not quite believing it - bowed, and she curtsied. Then he smiled and said quietly, “I wish only the best for you, Kareen.”

“Thank you, sire.” 

He excused himself and went to speak to some of the guests; no doubt there were many important people here, waiting to use her wedding reception as an excuse to raise some issue or promote their own interests with the Emperor. The world of Vorbarr Sultana politics still made Kareen’s head spin, but she told herself that she had plenty of time to learn how to navigate it - the rest of her life, in fact. 

And she would not be alone. A few moments after the Emperor left, Serg was at her side, offering her his arm. Ezar, despite all the frightening stories people told about him, didn’t seem so bad in person, and his son had never been anything but polite to her. Smiling up at her new husband, she took his arm and followed him away to mingle with their guests.

 

2\. 

Kareen clenched and unclenched her fists as she waited outside the door, determined to keep her fear under control. She hadn’t known what to expect when she’d finally broken and requested a private audience with the Emperor, but she’d been shocked that he’d agreed to see her so quickly. Now she wished she had a few more days to collect her thoughts and work through what exactly she would say, but perhaps it would be best to get this over with before she lost her nerve.

All too soon, the ImpSec guard returned from the Emperor’s suite and held the door for her, waving her inside with a bow. Kareen nodded her thanks and arranged her face into what she hoped was a polite smile before walking through the door.

She found herself in a small sitting room, comfortably furnished and decorated with rather impersonal antiques, well-lit despite the absence of windows. Emperor Ezar sat in an old-fashioned armchair in the center of the room, his back very straight, wearing a set of military undress greens and a penetrating stare. The sight of Captain Negri standing just behind him made Kareen’s stomach clench - his presence should not have been a surprise, but it would make the confession that much harder. She gave them her most graceful curtsey, and the Emperor gestured toward a matching chair placed across from his own. 

“Sit, please,” he said, and Kareen obeyed. 

“Your Majesty,” she began after taking a moment to arrange her skirts, “thank you for seeing me so quickly.” 

“I was glad when you asked, Kareen. We have not seen much of each other since the wedding, and now that things are more settled I feel I must stop neglecting my duties as a father-in-law. I trust you are well?” His tone was mild, but he sounded sincere, and watched her expectantly for a response. 

Kareen swallowed. She had been married barely half a year, and by now the fear and exhaustion never left her - she had trouble sleeping even on her uninterrupted nights. Lately she had taken to wearing jackets and blouses with long sleeves and high collars, the easiest way to hide bruises that never fully faded, while letting other Vor ladies think she was simply trying to start a new winter fashion. 

It was too late to turn back now.

“Your Majesty, I have…concerns regarding Serg’s behavior.” The Emperor and Captain Negri continued to watch her, their faces impossible to read. 

“What sort of concerns?” Ezar prompted, when she had been silent a little too long.

Tact could only do so much for her at this point, Kareen realized - she would have to be clear, or he would continue to take her vague statements at face value and offer only vagueness in return.

“On our wedding day, the Prince vowed to treat me with honor, to protect me from harm and care for me as his own.” Carefully she unbuttoned one of her blouse’s cuffs and rolled the sleeve back to her elbow, exposing the line of dark bruises that marched up her forearm. She looked up at the Emperor. 

“This isn’t the worst of it. He hurts me, and…he won’t stop.”

Ezar’s gaze remained cool and steady. “What would you have me do?”

He was going to make her beg. _Just like Serg._ Perhaps a true Vor woman would have been too proud, but Kareen had never had much pride. 

“Please,” she said quietly, “speak to Serg on my behalf.” 

“And what should I tell him?”

“Ask him to stop. _Order_ him to stop!”

Ezar shook his head. “He will not listen. I fear that if I try to interfere, his behavior might become more extreme out of a desire to spite me.”

“Surely there is something you can do! You are his father, the Emperor -”

“What could I do?” His voice was hopelessly, infuriatingly level. “What punishment could I possibly inflict on my only son? Imprisonment? Exile? He has no heir, Kareen. I cannot separate the two of you indefinitely with the succession still unsecured.” Ezar’s gaze seemed to bore into her. “It has been six months.”

The note of accusation in his voice felt like a slap in the face. He had seen her medical records, Serg’s records, he knew that both of them were fertile. But Ezar’s tone demanded an answer to his unvoiced question, and there was only one thing she could say, no matter how humiliating it was to divulge her most painful secrets to her father-in-law and his chief spy. 

Kareen lowered her eyes. “Serg doesn’t always…he likes to do things that he knows won’t make me pregnant. Sometimes -” she faltered, then collected herself. “Sometimes I have to ask him.” That was the worst part; the pleasure Serg took in forcing her to beg for something she hated, then subjecting her to pain and humiliation before he deigned to grant her request - or not. 

Her hands were trembling, her face burning with shame. Kareen dug her fingers into the arms of her chair, then glanced up at Negri’s grim face. “But I’m sure you already know that, Captain. ImpSec sees everything, doesn’t it?” 

Negri’s eyes widened, a flash of guilt or disbelief that lasted for a fraction of a second before he mastered it. He did not reply; instead he looked at Ezar, waiting for some order or sign from his Emperor.

Ezar’s expression had turned stiff and hard, and Kareen felt a sudden stab of fear. She should not have spoken against Serg; she should not have said anything at all. She had been mad to think that Ezar might help her - Serg was his only son, and Barrayaran men did not value the well-being of their daughters-in-law over the wishes of their heirs. _Stupid girl._

Would he tell Serg that she had come to him, let his son punish her for her faithlessness at his own discretion? The thought made her feel suddenly, viscerally ill. Serg would destroy her. 

What happened next was more a reflex than a decision. She pushed herself from the chair and sank to her knees on the carpet before Ezar. Negri raised an arm and shifted forward slightly as if to grab her, before he realized what she was doing and subsided; whether he was instinctively trying to protect the Emperor or had simply thought she was falling, Kareen couldn’t guess. She placed her hands on her knees and bent her head, fighting down panic.

“Please, sire, if I have spoken out of turn…I am sorry. I am a wife and I am Vor - my duty is to serve my husband and the Imperium. Let me go quietly and I will never speak of this again, I swear it.”

The silence that followed seemed to last for hours. Kareen held herself perfectly still, not daring to lift her head to look at Ezar. At last she heard the Emperor sigh.

“Sit down, Kareen.”

Slowly she lifted her head and looked up at him, unsure what he meant. Ezar’s face had traded its hardness for a faint sort of weariness. He pointed to the empty chair, and Kareen rose on legs that shook - with fear or relief, she wasn’t sure - and returned to her seat. 

“You have done nothing wrong. In fact, I’m pleased that you came to me - not because of the circumstances, but that you chose to seek help here and not…elsewhere.” He sounded completely unsurprised, which seemed to confirm Kareen’s suspicions about ImpSec surveillance of her marriage. She suppressed a shudder, trying not to think about it too hard.

“I hoped it would not come to this,” Ezar continued. “I hoped Serg would outgrow some of his more unpleasant tendencies.” 

Kareen stared at him. “You mean you knew? You sent a baba to my family in all good faith, knowing that he would do this to me? The Count my uncle would _never_ have -” she stopped, momentarily dizzy with realization. 

The Emperor's mouth twisted in a grimace. “Quite right. I did not know exactly what my son would do, but had I voiced my suspicions to your family the negotiations would have ceased then and there. But Serg must have an heir, and for that he needs a wife.” 

Now that she was beginning to get over her initial shock, the whole thing made a horrible kind of sense. It was simple, really. There was no way out - if Kareen or her family had refused the match, some other Vor girl would be here suffering in her place. Without a son for Serg, the Imperium would come crashing down around them all in another generation or so. 

“I understand, sire,” she said, somehow managing to keep her voice steady. 

“Kareen.” Ezar sounded almost gentle. “There is very little I can do for you now, but be assured I will not allow Serg’s behavior to continue indefinitely. Bear him a healthy son, and I will be able to do a great deal more for you. In the meantime, you must be strong.”

She could no longer look at him; the tears in her eyes were on the verge of spilling over, and the last thing she wanted was to fall apart in front of these hard men. Kareen stood, eyes lowered and hands clasped in front of her. “Thank you for seeing me, Your Majesty. May I go now?”

“Of course.”

Kareen curtsied and fled, moving through the halls as quickly as she could without actually running. She made it all the way back to her mercifully empty bedroom before bursting into sobs. 

 

3\. 

_Pain._ She couldn’t see. She screamed until her throat burned, but heard nothing through the roaring in her ears. Her tortured muscles spasmed, but something was pressing down on her so that she could barely move. The pain intensified, swallowing her up until there was nothing else…

Her eyes drifted open. She could see now, the blinding agony faded to a dull ache. She blinked, trying to clear her vision; her head felt fuzzy, her limbs sinking like lead into the soft mattress…had he drugged her?

Panicked, she tried to sit up, but the room spun around her and she fell back onto the pillow, breathing hard. The white walls and clean white sheets drifted into focus - she was not in the last place she remembered. That was good. Her breathing slowed as she took in her surroundings, more calmly this time. She was in a hospital room, probably ImpMil, a place she hadn’t set foot in since the thorough physical examination she had undergone before her engagement. 

_Hospitals are where they take you to get better,_ she thought a little dazedly. _No one will hurt you here._

“Kareen?”

She turned her head slowly toward the source of the voice. A man sat beside her bed, thin and grey-haired and withered-looking, dressed in dark, deceptively plain civilian clothes which on closer inspection were made of the very finest fabric. Her heart sank; Emperor Ezar had been watching her for who knew how long, his calm expression not quite hiding the pity in his eyes.

“Sire,” she responded, her voice coming out hoarse. She tried to sit up again, but he waved her down. 

“Please, rest,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned. Kareen lay back with a relieved sigh, then immediately regretted it. She hated appearing vulnerable in front of the Emperor, and it had already happened more times than she cared to recall. 

“I’m glad to see you awake, my dear,” Ezar said, quietly courteous.

She stared at him, not sure what he expected her to say; he seemed content enough to sit in silence until given another reason to speak, his hands clasped in his lap and his gaze fixed on some point on the wall behind her. Perhaps she would say nothing at all, or close her eyes and pretend to fall asleep. Not that there was nothing she wanted to say to Ezar - just nothing appropriate. 

_On the other hand,_ her drugged mind mused, _you can’t be held responsible for what you say when you have this many painkillers in your system. This might be the best chance you get - he can’t ignore the danger you’re in after this, surely. And besides, what more could he possibly do to you?_

 _Anything he wants,_ murmured the more cautious part of her brain, but for once Kareen ignored it.

“It was Ges,” she rasped. Ezar looked at her, frowning. “His idea, at least. Your son laughed when he suggested it. Both of them took a turn.” 

Ezar’s face hardened into an emotionless mask, the way it always did when she talked about Serg. Still he said nothing. 

“What happened to me, after I…how did I get here?”

Ezar sighed. “One of Negri’s men was on duty nearby when Serg and Commodore Vorrutyer left. They told him it might be wise to look in on you. When he knocked on the door to the bedchamber and you didn’t answer, the young man found a maid and sent her into your room. She was apparently so frantic when she came back that the guard called Captain Negri at once, and he took charge from there.” 

“Oh,” Kareen whispered. If the guard had been close enough to see them go, he must have heard her screaming. How many others had heard? How many had seen her in that state, stripped and unconscious and covered in shock-stick burns? 

Kareen exhaled slowly and stared up at the ceiling again, wishing Ezar would leave. Instead he said mildly, “The doctors tell me you should be well enough to go home in a day or so.”

“And what then?” she asked quietly, turning her head to look at him. “They’re going to patch me up and send me back to my husband?” It came out rather harsher than she had meant it too, but Ezar’s face stayed blank. 

“I know you’ve told my uncle and Sasha not to interfere,” Kareen went on, unable to stop herself. “I know you sent Max to Cetaganda to keep him from making trouble. But if I die at Serg’s hand, the other high Vor will know what happened, and you won’t be able to convince another family to give you one of their daughters without a fight.”

Hot tears began to spill down her cheeks, and she turned her face away from the Emperor again. These days she did not often give in to her childhood tendency to cry when she was angry, but the combination of drugs and exhaustion proved too much for her body to handle, and her fury at herself for losing composure only made her cry harder. 

The Emperor closed his eyes, and for a moment his face seemed to sag, making him look even older. “Ges Vorrutyer has been given a new command,” he said blandly. “He’s been in Vorbarr Sultana too long; I thought it was time to begin making better use of his talents. It’s an important mission, and he will not be returning to Barrayar for some time.”

Kareen covered her face with her hands for a moment and took a few deep, shaky breaths. Then she dabbed at her eyes with a corner of the hospital blanket and asked, “How long?”

“As long as it takes,” said Ezar, his voice hard.

Part of her wanted to start crying again out of sheer relief, but she had not forgotten that banishing Ges from court couldn’t solve more than half her problems, if that. Serg was less creative on his own, but he would be furious that his father had interfered.

Ezar picked up his coat from where it lay across the arm of his chair, and got slowly to his feet, reaching for the handsomely carved cane that leaned against the wall near the door.

“One more thing - I’ve been told there’s a Miss Alys Vormercier asking if she can see you. Shall I have Negri add her to the list of approved visitors?” He must have seen a flicker of worry on her face then, for he added hastily, “I am the only name on the list at present. No one else will be admitted without your express permission.”

Kareen nodded. If Alys had heard anything, she was no doubt worried to distraction already; it would be unkind to keep her in the dark any longer, with only vague official reports and shocking Vor gossip to go on. She would be restful company compared to Ezar, and her presence a pleasant distraction from everything else.

“Very well.” He gave a small, stiff, bow in her direction. “I wish you a quick recovery, Kareen, though you must be careful not to overtax yourself. Stay here for as long as you feel is necessary.” 

She understood, though it scarcely made her feel any better. “Thank you, sire.” 

Ezar’s mouth twisted, but he turned without another word and walked haltingly out of the room, leaning on his cane. Kareen watched him go, then fell back against the pillows with a wince and a sigh. She still felt frightened, but everything seemed oddly distant now, as though her brain had been hollowed out and filled with cotton stuffing. Perhaps it was the drugs. Perhaps her mind had finally broken under the strain of it all. 

With any luck, Alys would visit soon, and her smile would make things seem a little less bleak. 

 

4\. 

Kareen looked down at the tiny bundle she held close to her chest, still overwhelmed by a mixture of relief and incredulity. That her son lay in her arms, alive, healthy and sleeping peacefully, seemed nothing short of a miracle. She knew she was supposed to be resting, but she was perfectly comfortable here on the sofa with a blanket tucked around her legs, and the new nurse was just a wristcom call away. There was only one, and she had been vetted by Negri and chosen by Kareen; the fewer people authorized to hold her son, the better. 

Ezar Gregor Vorbarra was not a large baby, and in fact weighed a little less than the Barrayaran average, but according to the doctor he had very long feet and would probably grow up to be quite tall one day. A sparse layer of black hair covered his tiny scalp. His eyes, when not scrunched closed, were blue, but Kareen knew from watching her nieces and nephew as infants that they would likely change color soon, whether to her dark brown or Serg's hazel she couldn't say. He had cried very little so far, and Kareen had scarcely been able to let him out of her sight. 

It was an enormous relief to simply be able to sit quietly by herself after the uproar of the last few days. She had known that the birth of an Imperial heir was traditionally a semi-public event, but nothing could have prepared her for the actual experience of having a baby in front of a roomful of Counts and ministers and assorted High Vor, mostly men she saw regularly and would have to face again soon. The doctors attending her were kind, familiar ones who did their best to keep her calm, but Kareen had still sobbed with relief when Countess Vorob’yev and Alys finally arrived to sit beside her, holding her hands and stroking her hair and offering comfort and encouragement as needed. She hadn’t seen her aunt in almost two years - Count Vorob’yev had never liked Vorbarr Sultana much, and after Ezar had responded to his concerns about Kareen by all but ordering him not to interfere, he’d shunned the capital entirely and deputized his vote to Sasha. 

Even after he was born, it had seemed like an eternity before Kareen was finally allowed to hold her baby. First the doctors had examined him to make sure he had no obvious problems, then they had handed him to his father. Kareen had been so exhausted that she had not been able to keep herself from crying at the sight, though no one in the room save Alys, Ezar, and Serg himself could know for certain that her tears weren’t simply due to some imbalance of hormones. 

Kareen had briefly met Serg’s eyes when he at last gave her the child, and the spark of anger in them left her chilled, but the precious weight of the future Emperor of Barrayar in her arms had driven all thoughts of Serg from her mind. _This child will be my salvation._

The wristcom beeped three times, which meant the guard outside her door was calling. Kareen carefully maneuvered her arm so she could answer it without jolting Ezar Gregor. “Yes?” she said quietly.

“The Emperor is here to see you, milady. He wants me to ask if you feel up to receiving visitors. Should I send him in?”

“Please do. Thank you, Lieutenant Stephanides.” She cut the com, her heart suddenly racing. 

The possibility that Ezar might revoke the increased security she’d been given during her pregnancy had certainly crossed her mind in the last few weeks, but Kareen had forced herself not to dwell on it. The stress of the birth and her subsequent exhausted relief had all but driven those thoughts away. But now the man who controlled every aspect of her life, who could withhold his protection as easily as he had granted it, was standing right outside her door. Now that her body no longer carried the Imperial heir inside it, would Ezar judge it worthy of such stringent security measures? The whole planet could rest easier now that Serg had a son, but wouldn’t they be even safer if he had two? Ezar knew better than most the dangers of pinning all one’s hopes on a single child - what if he sent her back to Serg to try again? 

Her racing thoughts shuddered to a halt when the door opened and Ezar entered the room, dressed in one of the plain dark suits he wore when he was trying to appear informal. Kareen exhaled slowly, then managed a smile. “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“Kareen.” He glanced down at the sleeping child and lowered his voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite well, sire,” she said. _So happy I could burst. Or I was, until now._ “A little tired.”

“If you’re tired, I don’t want to trouble you.”

“Oh no, please, sit,” she said, and the Emperor sat down beside her on the sofa. 

“The doctors tell me everything went smoothly.” Kareen nodded, and he continued, “When Nadya gave birth to Serg there were serious complications, and for a while nobody was sure that either of them would live. I’m glad you were spared such an ordeal.”

Shocked, she could think of no response - Ezar rarely spoke of his wife, and Kareen didn’t think she had ever heard him say the Empress’ name aloud before. He had certainly never told Kareen that particular story, nor had anyone else. She fussed with Ezar Gregor’s blanket to fill the sudden silence. 

“He’s smaller than Serg was at that age,” the Emperor observed after a moment, trying to sound neutral and not quite succeeding. 

“Would you like to hold him?” Kareen asked, and Ezar actually smiled. 

“Certainly.” 

She carefully transferred the sleeping child to his grandfather’s arms, then leaned back against her pillows to watch them. Ezar seemed transfixed, staring down at the baby with a distant look on his face. Kareen couldn’t tell whether he was happy or sad - perhaps Ezar wasn’t sure, either. 

“There have been many times in my life when I didn’t think I would live to see a child named after me,” he said, half to Kareen and half to the baby. 

Kareen took a deep breath. “I…I’d like to call him Gregor. If you don’t mind, sire.” 

“Of course not.” Ezar’s faint smile held a trace of irony. “It will make things far less confusing for everyone. And your father was a good man, as I recall.”

“He was,” said Kareen, though she was sure she and Ezar must have seen very different sides of him. Lord Gregor Vorob’yev had died in a lightflyer accident when Kareen was twelve, four years after the death of her mother from a protracted illness. He had never been interested in a military career, and had worked an administrative job in his brother’s district since before Kareen was born. 

His image no longer came as clearly to her mind as it once had, but she could still see him; dark-haired and dark-eyed, taller and leaner than his older brother, somberly dressed in a dark civilian suit with an expression to match. Though he’d never been particularly lively, Kareen wondered in retrospect if he had ever really stopped mourning her mother. Lady Roxana had been dark-haired and kindly and plump, but but after so many years Kareen couldn’t quite remember her face. The existing pictures of them were all out at the Vorob’yev District estate, and Kareen hadn't been there in years. 

Ezar handed little Gregor back to her, and his tone turned businesslike. “I’d like to arrange a public appearance for the three of you soon. Sometime in the next week, if you feel strong enough by then.” 

Kareen’s stomach clenched, and she pulled Gregor a little closer to her chest. “Sire,” she said carefully, “the doctors have advised that I abstain from sharing my husband’s bed for a month following the birth.” When Ezar looked confused, she went on, “My current personal security measures should not be altered for at least that long.” 

Realization dawned on Ezar’s face. “You don’t have to worry about that, Kareen. Serg will not be permitted unsupervised contact with you or your son until I am convinced that he poses no physical threat to either of you.” 

Kareen stared at him. That was all but a promise to protect her for the remainder of Ezar’s life; she did not believe anything could convince him that Serg would never harm her again, not after all that had happened. Before she knew it she was crying, and Gregor woke up at last and began to fuss. She choked back her tears and rocked him until he calmed. When she looked back at Ezar, he was standing up to take his leave. 

“My dear, you should rest. We can speak of state matters another time, and discussing your security can wait as well. I’ll tell Negri to see about finding you a female guard.” 

The door closed behind him before Kareen could respond. She looked down at the baby in her arms, and Gregor stared back at her with wide blue eyes. “We’re going to have to survive in this world together now, you and I,” she murmured, letting his tiny hand grip her finger. Ezar would help her while he could, she felt sure of that, but there would be no one she could trust to simply care for her son as a person rather than a political object. If they wanted unconditional love, she and Gregor had no one but each other. 

 

5.

The summons was politely worded and seemed ordinary enough, but Kareen still felt a prickle of unease as she approached the door to Ezar’s chambers. Drou followed close behind her; the girl’s firm and dependable presence made life in the palace bearable these days, now that Ezar had clearly fallen ill for the last time. Few had the nerve to mention Serg’s ascension to the throne where she could hear them, but between Alys and Drou she heard practically everything, and most of it was less awful than what she could imagine on her own - Kareen had more personal experience with the Crown Prince and his vices than any of the rumor-mongers, after all. 

She was surprised Ezar had sent for her at all; he’d been shut up with the senior staff and various Counts for weeks, planning the invasion of Escobar. This meant that Serg was in the palace more often than usual, but it also meant he was tied up in meetings all day in a different wing, and thankfully Kareen had not encountered him outside of controlled official situations. She couldn’t fathom why Ezar wanted this war at all, what with all the trouble they were still having in Komarr, not to mention the empty new planet just waiting to be surveyed and settled. Grishnov and his War Party might simply have been led astray by greed and arrogance, but she knew the Emperor had more sense. 

However, one of the only things she felt certain of was that Ezar had not sent for her to ask her opinion on his military plans. The wording of the message had also made it clear that no one else would be permitted at this particular meeting, so when the ImpSec guard bowed to the Princess and opened the door, Drou cast her a worried look and leaned against the wall outside to wait. 

Kareen smiled gratefully at her bodyguard, and went into the outer sitting room. Ezar sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his lap and woolen slippers on his feet. He looked more like a very sick grandfather than the absolute ruler of three planets; his face was haggard and pale, and he seemed to have aged several years in the last few weeks. Kareen struggled to keep the dismay from her face as she swept him a curtsey.

“Sire.”

“Sit down, Kareen,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite him. The table between them contained tea, a plate of light pastries that the Emperor would be able to stomach, and three delicate cups with matching dishes. Kareen sat, glanced down at the cups, then raised her eyebrows at Ezar. 

“Captain Negri will be joining us in a moment,” he said calmly. 

No sooner had he spoken than the door swung open, and in walked Negri. He bowed, and Kareen smiled rather coldly. “Good afternoon, Captain. Would you care for some tea?” 

“Thank you, your Highness,” he responded deferentially, taking the seat beside Ezar. 

Kareen poured and served without being asked; she could see Ezar’s hands trembling slightly, and anyway she was the Emperor’s official hostess. Indeed, Ezar thanked her politely but did not touch his teacup. At the flicker of worry on Negri’s face, Kareen offered Ezar the plate of pastries, gently pressing until he finally accepted one. She supposed it was lighter than the cup, and dropping it would certainly be less messy. 

She and Negri sipped their tea in polite silence until Ezar had finished eating. Then the Emperor folded his hands in his lap and turned to his daughter-in-law.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so absent lately. These war meetings have taken most of my time for the past few weeks, but the worst of the planning seems to be behind us now. You and Gregor are well, I hope?” He sounded casual, but Kareen did not believe for a moment that he’d requested her presence at a private meeting with him and the chief of ImpSec to ask after her health. 

“Yes, sire,” was all she said. 

“Good. Now, there is something more specific I wish to discuss.” Ezar’s gaze sharpened, his stare suddenly growing more intense. “What is the exact nature of your relationship with Vidal Vordarian?”

It didn’t take much effort to keep her face blank. She was prepared for this. She’d gone about it as carefully as possible, of course, but she knew she was too closely monitored for anything to get past Negri and Ezar. This was no guarantee that Serg knew as well - in fact, it almost made it more likely that he didn’t. 

Kareen sighed, setting her cup back on the table. “We’re not lovers,” she said flatly.

Ezar nodded, unfazed. “I suspected as much.” _ImpSec would have known if you were,_ was the unspoken conclusion. "Do you intend to be?"

“Only if it becomes necessary."

Ezar raised his eyebrows. "And under what circumstances do you believe such a thing would become necessary?"

 _Stop playing the fool, Ezar._ He must have read transcripts of her messages and listened to recordings of her calls, or at the very least been briefed on them by Negri. Hell, even the few private face-to-face conversations she'd managed to have with Vidal had probably been bugged. 

Even _Vidal_ knew her motives, though she had led him to believe that a certain amount of personal regard on her part was involved as well. 

“Serg and I haven’t lived as husband and wife in four years. If I have to return to that life, I doubt I’ll live long.” Her voice was hard, daring the Emperor to contradict her, but Ezar said nothing. "Sire, you've protected me from Serg effectively for a long time, and I'm grateful, truly. But when he becomes Emperor, I'll be at his mercy unless I can find someone else who can challenge him, and who has some reason to want me and Gregor kept safe."

Ezar scrutinized her for a moment, then said, “Why Vordarian? He’s no friend of Serg, it’s true, but Serg has many more vocal opponents. Why not one of them? Why not Count Vorob’yev? You’d be less likely to attract suspicion contacting him than an unmarried man who’s not your relative.”

“My uncle almost never comes to Vorbarr Sultana, and has very little to do with politics. And I haven’t contacted any of my family members independently in years - it would look strange if I suddenly started talking to them again. Vidal is a regular guest at the Residence, and he’s wealthier and more powerful than most of Serg’s enemies.” She thought she saw a tiny flicker in Ezar’s expression and instantly regretted using the man’s first name. She’d been training herself to think of him as Vidal to make their growing familiarity easier to maintain, but it might give Ezar the wrong idea. 

“Besides, Count Vordarian’s personal situation makes him more susceptible to my suggestions than others of his rank. I believe he cares for me as well as for Barrayar.”

“And do you care for him?” Ezar asked. His face bore a strange expression, a veneer of distant calm underlain by - concern? anger? fear? Kareen couldn’t tell. “Are you pursuing him purely out of necessity, or do you desire him as well?”

Did she _desire_ him? What sort of question was that? She desired the safety he might be able to give her one day, craved the assurance that she had options besides being Serg’s plaything for the rest of her life. She couldn’t say she found Vidal attractive - he was a decade older than her and not particularly handsome - but that hardly seemed to matter. She had considered Serg good-looking, once. As for sex, Kareen preferred to think about it as little as possible, now that she had a choice in the matter. She didn't like the idea of sleeping with Vidal, but it didn't fill her with terror, either. He didn't seem like a cruel man. 

_But how do you know?_ Serg hadn't seemed cruel, at first. 

Kareen shoved that thought aside and looked Ezar directly in the eyes. “I won't break my vows to Serg unless I have to,” she said in a tight voice. “Even if I were somehow free, marriage holds no appeal for me anymore. But I will do anything to protect myself and Gregor.” 

The Emperor shook his head. “I did not bring you here to accuse you of being unfaithful to my son,” he said, his mouth twisting with distaste. “Serg knows nothing about this, and it will certainly be in all our best interests to keep him ignorant. But your…association with Vordarian is unwise, as well as unnecessary.”

Kareen looked at him with an expression of polite interest on her face and said nothing. She had no idea what he was getting at, and if Ezar wanted her to believe him, he’d damn well better explain himself. 

Ezar sighed. “You have nothing to fear from Serg, I promise. I will not leave you unprotected.” 

"How?" Kareen demanded, unable to hold back her anger any longer. "How can you possibly promise me that? Whether you value my life or not, you can't want Gregor to grow up with Serg as his main authority figure. What kind of ruler would he be after that, assuming he survived that long? And with Serg in charge, any stability you’ve managed to bring to this planet will come crashing down within a year!” 

The Emperor said nothing. Questions continued to swarm through Kareen’s mind, and she had to restrain herself from blurting them all out at once. Had Ezar seen a doctor recently? How much longer did he have? Why was he wasting the last of his strength on a war that would no doubt be costly, destructive, and unnecessary? How could he be so confident that she would be safe from Serg? Was he planning to have his son assassinated after he returned from the war? Or would he arrange for it to happen while Serg was away so he could pin it on the Escobarans? And what the hell did he expect her to do if his plan, whatever it was, failed? She glared helplessly at him. _Answer me, damn you!_

At last, Ezar held up a hand. “Kareen.” He looked so tired that a pang of sympathy went through her before she could quash it. “I won’t stop you from communicating with Vordarian - I see no need to put an end to your contingency plan, as long as your current security is not compromised. But don’t get in too deep with him.” He spoke with a strange intensity now, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “Leave yourself a way out, because I give you my word that you will not need Vordarian's protection.”

For a moment all Kareen could do was stare at him. She wanted to scream, or burst into tears, something to release her pent-up emotions and perhaps even shock Ezar into giving her a straight answer. But she could tell he had said all he was going to say, and not even extreme gestures on her part would move him to change his mind. 

Kareen sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. She'd almost forgotten how exhausting it was to live in a state of constant worry, so well-protected had she been in recent years. Maybe it was time to stop wondering - she could simply let Ezar's plans, whatever they were, play out, and keep Vidal in reserve in case the Emperor's promises proved empty. 

_Let's see what happens,_ she thought wearily. 

"Thank you, sire. Was there anything else you wished to tell me? If not, I'd like to get back to Gregor; I had to leave him rather unexpectedly." 

"Of course," said Ezar. He, too, looked as though his energy was flagging, and the corners of his mouth were tightening with pain. "My doctor has ordered me to rest as much as possible, and it seems my body agrees. Negri, tell the door guard to send for one of my Armsmen on your way out."

Negri stood and bowed, his face politely blank. The man had been so unobtrusive during her conversation with Ezar that Kareen had almost forgotten he was there. She felt more annoyed by this than the situation warranted. Negri had known most of the intimate details of her life since the day she married Serg - surely she should be used to it by now.

Out in the hallway, Negri relayed Ezar's message to the guard, and Kareen looked for Drou. The young woman had snapped alert the moment the door opened, and now she hurried to her mistress' side. 

"Are you alright, Your Highness?" she asked quietly, her eyes flicking over Kareen's face and registering her weariness with concern.

"Yes, Drou. Please escort me back to Gregor now." She gave a little nod that meant, _I'll tell you later,_ and Drou nodded back in understanding. 

"Of course, my lady." 

On an impulse, Kareen turned to Negri, who had seen the messenger off and was preparing to leave. "Captain Negri," she called. 

He turned and bowed to her. "Your Highness?" he said blandly. 

"I have a favor to ask of you." She beckoned him closer. 

His brow furrowed slightly, but he stepped obediently forward. Kareen lowered her voice and said, "I want a full background check on Count Vidal Vordarian, with particular attention paid to his personal life. As soon as possible, please.” This time, she needed to know what she was signing up for. 

Negri's face had returned to its usual impassive state, but she knew he understood what she wanted. "That will be no trouble at all, Your Highness. I'll have it sent to you within the next few days."

"Thank you, Captain." With a nod, Kareen swept past him down the hallway, Drou following as close as a shadow in her wake. 

 

6\. 

The curtains were drawn over the tall windows in the Emperor’s bedroom. The chamber was lit only by a small lamp on a bedside table, and silent but for the gentle humming of the machines that monitored Ezar and kept him alive. Kareen half-dozed in an armchair beside the massive carved bed, her feet pulled up beneath her and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was exhausted, but the doctor had said it might be a matter of hours now, and she didn’t want to leave him alone. 

Not that he would have been alone, really. Negri had been here when Kareen arrived and hadn’t moved since, standing stern and alert by the door like a guard dog. During his last lucid period Ezar had ordered the doctor out of the room, muttering something about security before drifting back into a deep sleep. And so time slipped by as they waited, quiet and tense, to see if he would wake again.

Ezar stirred, his eyelids fluttering, and Kareen sat up. He turned to look at her, hazel eyes vivid against his bloodless face. 

“Kareen.” His voice was cracked and barely audible. “What are you doing here?”

“You’re dying, Ezar,” she said gently, getting up from her chair and leaning over the bed. 

“I know that, girl,” he rasped, somehow still managing to sound impatient. “That’s no reason for you to lose any sleep.”

Kareen was not at all sure what to say to that, so she said nothing. 

Ezar turned his head, looking past her to the door. “Isaak,” he growled, and the captain hurried over to stand beside the bed, his face pale and set. Kareen stepped back, feeling suddenly like an intruder - she could not remember ever hearing the Emperor call Negri by his first name. 

“Sire.” 

“Come here.” Ezar raised a finger and beckoned. Negri knelt beside the bed, his head bent close to Ezar’s. Kareen retreated even further to a hard-backed chair in the far corner of the room, watching as the Emperor and his most loyal subject spoke for a few minutes in voices too soft for her to make anything out. 

At last Negri stood, bowing to the old man and kissing his hand before stepping back. He looked at Kareen, mouth tight and eyes glistening. “My lady," he said, nodding, and Kareen approached the bed once more. 

Ezar stared wearily up at her from his pillow. "Kareen."

"Yes, sire?" 

“I hate to leave you like this, with Gregor as young and vulnerable as he is, but this wrinkled old corpse didn’t ask me what I wanted,” Ezar said grimly. No doubt he saw the same bitter irony that Kareen did; a man who had never expected to taste old age dying peacefully in his bed, a man who obsessively manipulated everyone around him slowly losing control over his own body. 

“I can do no more. Now it is up to you to protect Gregor - and to raise him to be a capable man, but I’m certain you will have no trouble doing that without my help. As for the rest, I believe that Aral Vorkosigan can be relied upon to look after your best interests. You must trust him, Kareen.”

 _How can you ask me to trust him?_ she wanted to demand. _He’s tried to kill himself twice since Escobar, and everyone knows he was Ges Vorrutyer’s lover._ His marriage had been a relief, at least - now he wouldn’t be able to try grabbing power through possession of Kareen - and the new Lady Vorkosigan was a remarkable woman who seemed to have banished his drunkenness and suicidal tendencies by her presence alone. Kareen thought she might come to trust Cordelia in time, but Vorkosigan was a man and a Vor lord besides, and Kareen had known too many Vor lords who had taken her trust and trampled it into the dirt. 

_You know I’m not some gullible maiden anymore, Ezar. Your son beat that out of me years ago._ But Ezar was dying, and she did not want him agitated in these last few minutes. Let him go to his grave convinced that the Barrayar he had created was as secure as it could ever be. 

“Of course,” she said, trying her best to sound reassuring. 

“And Vordarian? You’ve cut ties with him?” 

“He expects nothing from me,” Kareen said. It hardly mattered whether this was true or not, for he would get nothing from her now, and that had been a relief, too - a new husband was the absolute last thing she wanted, now or ever. She was distancing herself from Vidal as quickly as she dared, but she couldn’t afford to make an enemy of him, or to turn one of the planet’s most powerful men even further against the new Regent. 

Ezar gave a small sigh, and closed his eyes. At first Kareen thought he had drifted off again, but then he murmured, “I did you a great wrong, Kareen.” 

She froze. Beside her, Negri took a step back and averted his gaze, as though trying to give them at least the illusion of privacy. Suddenly feeling shaky, Kareen pulled her armchair closer to the bed and sat, looking down at the wizened face with a mixture of pity and dread.

“Don’t worry about that now,” she said in what she hoped was a soothing voice. “You’ve always kept your word to me, Ezar.”

“I destroyed your life,” he said bluntly, his voice a raspy growl. “You could have married a Count’s heir, or some promising young officer - there were dozens of men who could have given you children and basic kindness, perhaps even love. But some poor virgin had to be sacrificed at the altar of the Imperial succession, and you seemed by far the most suitable.” He opened his eyes, turning his eerily bright gaze upon her once more. “I chose well. You were everything I had hoped for and more - you never denounced Serg publicly, never tried to run or turn to family members for help. You didn’t try to kill him, or even to end your own life. You were so damned strong that plenty of Vor thought the rumors of Serg’s conduct were wild exaggerations spread by his political opponents.”

His skin was colorless and almost translucent, and his mouth barely moved. But for his eyes - the only part of him that still seemed alive - Kareen might have been talking to a ghost.

“I offered you wealth and status and happiness, and gave you years of torture followed by a lifetime of fear. It is unforgivable, I know.” 

What could she say to that? _You’re right, Ezar. You’ve been pulling my strings since I was twenty-three, and I hate you for it. Thanks to you I’ll probably never feel safe again._

She _could_ say all that, she supposed. Kareen knew Ezar well enough to tell that he meant what he had just said - he did not expect to be forgiven. So why had he said it? An attempt to ease his conscience? Or was he trying to provoke her into getting angry at him, some kind of self-punishment while simultaneously giving her a chance for catharsis? Even the man’s deathbed confession was a damned puzzle. 

Before she could decide how to answer, Ezar closed his eyes again, his breathing growing labored and shallow. Kareen leaned back in her chair for a few moments, covering her face with her hands. Then she got up and fetched the doctor from the sitting room. She and Negri hovered nearby as he checked his monitors, examined his patient briefly, and jotted down a few notes on a plastic flimsy. Seeing their anxious faces, he sighed, looking very tired.

“He’s stable for now, but I doubt he’ll wake again. There’s nothing to do now but wait. I hope you had a chance to say good-bye the way you wished to, my lady.” 

“I did,” Kareen said, feeling numb. “Thank you, Doctor.”

 _It’s done,_ she thought distantly. _I will never be an empress._ She’d known that the moment she heard about Serg’s death, of course, but now it was real. The little boy who slept peacefully in a room down the hall now had the weight of three worlds on his shoulders, and was suddenly in more danger than he had ever been in his life.

“Your Highness.” She looked up at Negri’s blank, frozen face. “Forgive me, but you should rest; you have a taxing day ahead of you. Shall I escort you to your chambers?”

“I - yes, Captain. Thank you.” Kareen turned to the doctor. “Please inform me immediately about any changes in his status.”

“Of course, my lady,” he said, bowing. 

She gave him a tired smile, then followed Negri out of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to Juliana for reading this story dozens of times in various stages of completeness, and for talking headcanons with me and listening to me yell about my character feelings.
> 
> Yes, Max Vorob’yev is meant to be Ambassador Vorob’yev from _Cetaganda_.


End file.
